The Food Files 2: The Food Strikes Back

...or... a Dying Diner, two Disappointing Dinners, and Campfire Cuisine.

(Meant to post this last night, but was too exhausted after a good 10-mile day. More on that in the next post. I drafted this Wednesday night while I digested my campfire meal.)

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The Dying Diner:
On my way out of Minneapolis & St. Paul, I was aiming for the west side of Fargo, so I was pushing pretty hard. There was a lot of driving to do between the Twin Cities and Teddy Roosevelt National Park. Saturday afternoon rolled around, and it was time for me to get a-movin'. Once I'm a-movin', I don't like a-stoppin'. I pulled off the highway only as needed for gas, liquids (either taking on or getting rid of), and food. One thing I noticed about western Minnesota (and, for that matter, Wisconsin) is that when the signs along the highway say that there is (for example) food or gas at a particular exit, they don't mean right at the exit. Could be five, ten, who-knows how many miles down the road. And, to make matters even more entertaining, they don't both putting up signs telling you how far down the road your destination is. They just leave little bread-crumbs of signs pointing in the direction. It's sort of a little game they play in these states. (Let's see how many miles out of the way we can get the tourists to drive before they are either lost or fed up! Wheeeee!) After my third (or was it fourth?) time giving up and turning around ten miles down some country road, I decided that I just had to have faith and follow the signs. I finally found Ruby's City Restaurant; it was some little diner that used to be on a main road, but is off the interstate by about ten miles. Another casualty of the Eisenhower Interstate System. (Ike's system is fine for travel, but it sure has put a bite on anything that's no longer right on the main road.) Simple, but well prepared food was at my table in short order. (Get it? Short order? That's a joke...) I was too busy taking pictures of the place (and too hungry to take pictures of the food), but you've seen what a BLT looks like.

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Disappointment #1
Seduced by the sultry sound of sweet-spicy sauce, I was instead abandoned by blubbery, rubbery bison "barbecue". Now, I like buffalo. (The price, not so much). So, when I saw the sign for barbecue in the town of Medora (where the South Unit of TRNP is), I felt myself drawn in by the idea that in an old cattle town, somebody's surely got to know how to do Q. And when I saw buffalo brisket on the menu, how could I resist? I should have tried harder. A combination of not being cooked long enough to render connective tissue and being poorly sliced (with the long, chewy grain, instead of across it) left a sandwich that had more in common with Gumby than good brisket. Then, for the next kick in the teeth, as I was leaving town, I finally saw a sign for cowboy fondue. Meat cooked in hot oil, on a pitch-fork. I have heard good things about this, but unfortunately, found the location too late. Alas, for the advertising industry has once again done me wrong!

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Disappointment #2
Weary from long hauls, both in the car and dragging my butt up snowy inclines at high altitudes, I found the best looking (or, grammatically, I should say 'better looking') restaurant in St. Mary. Looks good, in a hotel, got a good singer in the lounge; I am all ready for good culinary things to happen. Order a buffalo steak "cowboy-style". While I'm waiting for this to come, I am given some bread and a good herby spread to enjoy along with my beverage. ("Moose Drool" it was called; and it was certainly good enough for me.) When the steak finally arrives, I was so famished that I tore into it, barely tasting what was there. The steak was actually cooked medium-rare (how I usually order, but seldom get). Once I was half-way through the steak, it began to dawn on me that my new water glass was empty. Curious. I decided to taste my meal for perhaps the first time, and could hardly believe just how damn salty the thing was. Unbelievable. The steak, the sauce, the potatoes, each one saltier than the next. I hate sending food back; if I hadn't finished half of the steak, I would have. So, with plenty of water, I finished another disappointing meal.

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Campfire Cuisine, or "Bragging"
Finally, we get to something good. After spending way too much for a burger, fries, and a soda at a park lodge, I decided that I would cook my own meal tonight. I've been lugging all of this stuff around and have only made coffee and cereal. (Important, but nothing to brag about.) So tonight, planned time to cook over an open fire. On the menu were herbed, spiced potatoes (braised in the secret ingredient), steamed carrots and red pepper, and a spiced, herbed meat patty. (Ok, that was supposed to be a hamburger, but it never browned, just braised in its own juices, which is fine by me.) Once I had all dishes cooking in their own little foil pouches, I had a sudden inspiration! I had all I needed for a Welsh Rarebit sauce! (For those who don't know, Welsh Rarebit is a sauce made from good cheddar cheese, a bit of mustard and some of the secret ingredient.) That menu again was braised, herbed, spiced potatoes, steamed vegetables, braised, and spiced, herbed meat patty with Welsh Rarebit Sauce, cooked over, and eaten by, a campfire, and washed down with some more secret ingredient.


Life does not get any better. Or at least it didn't until dessert.


The first one was perfect, the second one was better.

I am one happy, stuffed, fat bastard.